The Con
by MasqueradeMidnights
Summary: I quickly left the parking lot of a place that was forever plagued with a sickening memory that was replaying in my head and it made a porno feel like a home.
1. Chapter 1

"What the fuck do you mean we need to take a break?" He couldn't doing this to me, not now. He knows how much I need him to be there, and then he tells me that we need to take a fucking break. He has to be kidding me right now. The air was bitter against my bare skin. Goosebumps erupted on the flesh exposed to the brisk winds of a Saturday night in California. I actually adored cold weather, it was an excuse for me to buy a coffee so I could attempt to warm the inside of a rather frozen and frostbitten heart.  
"It's exactly what it means." His voice was so monotone. It's like he couldn't give a fuck about what's happening right now. His voice was so smooth even though it put together a sentence that was so very rough that it cut me. It cut so deep that it almost went straight through bone. It was another scar to add to an ever-growing collection. Which number was this one? Number 14, perhaps it's more along the lines of 39. Honestly, I don't know anymore, I've lost count so long ago.  
"You know what, fine we can take a goddamn break, just tell me this, what made you come to the conclusion that you wanted to take a fucking break?" I didn't give a shit about who heard me. I'm pretty sure people in a fifty mile radius could hear me. I wanted him to hear all the pain and anger that he was causing me. I wanted him to hear that he was just another broken promise, I wanted him to the crack, no, the fissure he had just created inside of me. I wanted him to hear it loud and motherfucking clear.  
"I just don't feel it anymore." The cold air was rushing around me, sweeping my hair along with it. Colors flickering and changing on the traffic light. Green, red, yellow, just a constant cycle. No complications, no problems, that constant cycle. I envied that traffic light, it mocked me with something I knew I would never have, security, consistency. "You don't feel what anymore, Beck? What is it you don't feel?" He wouldn't look at me, what was wrong with me? Am I some sort of freak? Why wouldn't he look at me? I at least to be looked in the eye if he was going to break my heart.  
"The love, we fight all the time and I just don't think I can take it anymore." And with that he got into his truck and left. He's gone, he left. He fucking left. I don't even know what to do anymore. I don't even think I can feel anything anymore. I feel so numb, I feel so dead. I can't even feel my heart beating at this point. I think I forgot how to breathe. Silently, I made my way to my car. The key was inserted into the ignition and the car purred to life. I quickly left the parking lot of a place that was forever plagued with a sickening memory that was replaying in my head and it made a porno feel like a home. I didn't really know where I was going and I didn't pay an ounce of attention. In hindsight I wish I did because I didn't see the semi speeding towards me...Tires screeching, the loud horn singing through my ears, my foot pounded against the brake in a feeble attempt to save my life or at least have as minimal damage as possible done. The idiot in the semi barely missed me, he was more than likely drunk. I seriously need to get home and sleep until I die or until society finally decides to get its shit together, preferably the former because the latter is gonna take a hell of a long time to get done. I really don't want to communicate with anyone so those who attempt to will probably the cause of my life sentence in prison because of a third-degree murder case. I pull into the driveway of a place I long ago did not consider a home. I barge through ebony doors, grunt a half hearted greeting that's a mixture of "hello" and "fuck off" to my parents and sulk my way up the stairs. My boots collide with each step and I rather enjoy the sound, it causes me to imagine I'm crushing someone's skull. I reach my room, toss my bag on the floor and kick off my boots. I grab my laptop and decide to update my Slap page status before going to bed.  
Jade West: I hate life.  
Mood: Dead.  
I close my laptop and sink down into my mattress, pulling the midnight black comforter over my head and I sleep away the rest of this horrendous night. 


	2. The Burden

I woke up the next morning and checked my clock. 6:51 in the morning. Why the hell am I up so early? Never mind now, since I'm up I might as well get my day started. I grab my laptop off my desk and decide to check my Slap page. 14 new notifications? Most of them are comments on my status from last night and others are some I don't bother reading. I scroll through my timeline and it's just a plethora of useless information and idiotic status updates about things I'm certain people don't give a shit about. As I'm scrolling through something catches my eye and it almost made my heart stop. It opened up a new scar, no, a gash and it hurt so much. I stared at it for what felt like an eternity.

Beck Oliver is now single. 47 people like this.

Did 47 people like that he was single or did they love the fact that he shattered my heart? I couldn't take the pain, I needed to get rid of it, it's mocking me. It's laughing in my face, it's swallowing me from the inside out. I reach under my pillow and retrieve an old friend of mine, the one that has been there through thick and then, the one that has seen all of my ups and downs, the only one that has been there to see, feel, and hear everything. I put it to my skin, the porcelain portrait of my body and I let the feeling of the rugged and unforgiving edges resonate on the surface of my flesh. Adrenaline is dancing it's way through every nook and cranny of my veins, a fire crackles and roars in the pit of my stomach, it makes me feel nauseous and dizzy but I love the feeling with every fiber of my being. I slowly drag the tiny piece of metal across my wrist and it heightens everything. The pain from the newest addition to my collection of scars is just what I needed to rid myself of the pain in my frostbitten heart, or at least fool myself that I got rid of it. A porcelain canvas with the oh so subtle streaks of red done by a paranoid and psychotic artist with a cynical heart and a schizophrenic mind accompanied by a sluggish pulse makes this painting that much more painfully beautiful. I slide off the bed and slowly make my way to the bathroom. The blood of a forgotten soul still doing a gorgeously choreographed ballerina dance down the arm of a broken china doll. I turn on the shower and remove my clothing. I stare at myself in the mirror, the reflection of who I am or who I used to be is laughing at me. Just as the pain did, I wonder what the fuck is so funny to my inner demons. I hate the way I look, maybe if I was skinnier Beck would love me again, just maybe. I step into the shower and feel the scorching heat of the water cascade down my miserable flesh. My body screams against the intense heat, begging me to give it an icy relief. While in the shower I feel heat trail from my eyes down my face. I don't know if I'm crying because of Beck, the shower, or the cuts but I'm fairly certain it's a mixture of all three, some more so than others. I wash away the remaining blood that has stained my forearm and recite my farewells as it travels down the drain. I turn off the blazing water and step out of the shower and once again stare down my reflection in the mirror. It was a sick, twisted, and jarred version of who I was or maybe, just maybe, I was the sick, twisted, and jarred recreation of my reflection. I couldn't bear to look at the impression of me that was being put on display in that mirror. I couldn't just stand there and let it laugh at me, turning me into some kind of sick and twisted joke that only the darkest corners of my mind would find morbidly fucking amusing. I left out of the room that made me feel like I was trapped in my own skin and suffocating under my own breath. I slipped on a loose grey long sleeve shirt to hide the newest addition to an ever-growing family. I put on my glasses and grabbed my laptop once more, almost scared breathless as to what I would find on my Slap page. I noticed there were more people that liked Beck's relationship update. A frightfully staggering 137 people liked it, and it had 28 comments. Me being Jade West I have to find out what these people had to say about the matter. Some comments were from unknown ganks at the school but one comment made by the almighty Beck fucking Oliver stood out the most.

Beck Oliver: Yeah, Jade broke up with me. She told me that she didn't feel any kind of connection between us anymore. Trust me, I'll be fine guys.

I read that comment at least ten to fifteen times. "What the fuck?" He breaks my fucking heart and then puts it on his Slap page that I broke up with him? Oh, Beckett Oliver will be fucking sorry, so help me. 


End file.
